


(That Boy Needs Therapy)

by Benzaiten (DaughterOfTheWest), Skylark



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Character Study, Depression, Dirk goes on monologues, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, M/M, Medication, Minor Alpha!Dercest, New York City, Social Anxiety, and the story is told mostly in conversation., non-sburb AU, therapystuck, to his therapist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterOfTheWest/pseuds/Benzaiten, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark/pseuds/Skylark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk Strider is 22. He is the IT guy for the offices of Sicknasty Films, lives in a studio apartment in Hell's Kitchen over a Thai restaurant, and has a sum total of three friends. </p><p>These are his adventures in therapy, and in courting one crazy Australian film nut named Jake English.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lie down on the couch. (Prologue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work title from "Frontier Psychiatrist" by the Avalanches.

"Twice a week."

_Dirk looks incredulous._

“Why?”

“Because you are depressed, Dirk. Clinically. Roxy and I both are worried about you, and it’s about time you stopped locking yourself in your room and hiding from your problems. We’ve both been in therapy for years now, and it is the best thing you can do for yourself.”

“You’re biased.”

“Perhaps I am; but I already spoke with Dave. He is willing to pay for it. As you are most certainly aware he is a thickheaded and deeply repressed man but he is your older brother. He’s concerned, Dirk. As are we.”

“I’m fine.”

“Dirk—“

“I’m not—“

“Dirky.”

_He sees Roxy, pink eyes boring into his, looking about as serious as he has ever seen her with her hands balled into the wool of her scarf._

“Just--do it for us. Okay? Do it for me ‘n Rose and Dave. It doesn’t mean you’re crazy and it doesn’t mean you’re fucked up or anything. We just want to make sure you’re okay. So… just do it for a month or two. If you hate it, then stop. But give it at least that long. As a favor to me. Alright?”

_She_ had _to pull that card._

 

\-----------------------

 

“I’m here for them. Rose and Roxy. Them and my bro. I’m not the kind of guy who goes and sees a therapist, no offense.”

“None taken.”

“I just don’t really like doing the whole bleeding-heart thing. It’s not something I need to do, nor particularly want to do. I’ve taken care of myself just fine for this long.”

“Do you know why they wanted you here, then?”

“Hm?”

“They are obviously worried about you. Do you have any idea what could have raised concerns about your health?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you been eating regularly?”

“I guess?”

“How often do you go out with friends?”

“I’m not a particularly social person.”

“You’re not more lethargic than usual? Irritable? ”

“I don’t know.”

  _He stares out the window, arms folded._

“Maybe this isn’t the best place to start, then.”

_Dirk looks up._

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”


	2. Now what does that mean?

“What do you want to know?”

“Whatever you can tell me. Full name, age, where you work, where you’re from, what your family is like, et cetera.”

“Well, you know my name. Dirk Strider. I’m 22. Graduated high school at 16 and started college a few months before my 17th birthday. I work at my brother’s indie film production company. He’s a director-producer and I do the IT work for the office. It’s boring as hell but it pays well, and the hours are flexible. Gives me time to work on projects of my own and all.”

“Such as?”

“Music. I DJ and mix and stuff. Also I do a lot of work with robotics. That’s what I went to school for, by the way. Engineering and shit. I also sew a little, and draw.”

“And your family?”

“Mom and dad have been out of the picture for a while, now. Dave, I mean, Bro, he pretty much raised me. Luckily our cousins were around and helped us out. Roxy and I were always tight, and Bro and Rose got along well. If it wasn’t for them we’d probably be dead or something. We moved out to upstate New York to be with them and stayed there through the end of high school. I went back to Houston for a year or two after graduating school and Dave settled here in the city to start his movie career.”

“That’s quite a story.”

“It’s just our life. We deal with whatever we get thrown at us. Striders don’t back down and don’t crack under pressure.”

“Does your brother say that?”

“Yeah. In retrospect it was probably as much for himself as it was for me, but he tried his best to make me tough, too.”

“You two sound like you’re close.”

“We are. We’re only three years apart. He’s 25, already the head of his own film company. Just a crazy talented guy.”

“Graduating at 16 is pretty impressive, too.”

“Not really. The shit they taught at our high school was rudimentary, at best. Particularly in the sciences. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Still, very impressive.”

“Thanks.”

“When did you move to the city?”

“A year and a half ago. Two years, come September.”

“Do you live with your brother?”

“No. Well, I used to. But after a while we were just at each other’s throats too much and I got my own place. I’ve got a little studio in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m right over this Thai place so it always smells like Thai food, for better or for worse.”

“Was it a culture shock, moving to the city?”

“At first. I’d never spent much time here. Lots of time in Houston and in the woods upstate, but not here. When I went back to Houston I worked on a ranch for a little while, taking care of horses and shit. Coming from out there, with the dust and the cattle and country music, it’s a totally different world. Toto, I think we’re not in Texas anymore. We killed the Wicked Witch and stole her blingy shoes and are now traipsing around Emerald City like we own the place. I am Dorthy. It is me. It’s still sort of... jarring. That’s the word. To go outside. It’s overwhelming.”

“Can you tell me about why it’s overwhelming?”

“I don’t know, it just is.”

“Well, what’s the first thing that hits you when you go outside?”

“The first thing is... The first thing is the noise.”

“The noise?”

“Yeah, the noise. The horns. The horns and the squealing brakes and I guess cars in general-- they’re loud. Then the footsteps. Some of them are _clack-clack_ and some of them are _papp-papp_ and some of them you can’t really hear at all. But they’re… percussive. Then it's the all of the nebulous talking and laughing and babies crying and its everywhere. Just, it’s fucking omnipresent. Can’t escape it. And I guess there’s also music of the performers in the subway and on the corners, and all of the sounds that your body makes that you tune out most of the time that become insanely loud when all of the little sounds are just crowding everything out, you know?

“And there’s also the smells. Sidewalk vendors selling shitty nuts and hotdogs stuffed with pigeon and disease and glass and crap-- and that’s not even hyperbole there’s actually proof that those things are so disgusting I have no idea why they can even be called food--anyway, yeah. Smell. And then just the overwhelming clutter of everything. I mean-- the whole city is people living in boxes stacked on top of other boxes tied together with concrete and plumbing and wires. And the people-- so fucking many people. They’re everywhere. There is literally no way to escape the sheer volume of it all. The knob on the volume is up to eleven. Point-five. Spinal Tap would be so fucking jealous. I should never have moved to the city. Why did I think this was a good idea? Yeah, sure, I’m an introvert who can’t talk to people for shit. You know what’s a good idea? Moved to the most populated place in the whole fucking country! Yeah, brilliant plan!”

_Dirk pinches the bridge of his nose, the sarcasm draining from his tone._

“I-- fuck, I mean-- I don’t know. Sometimes I just want to crouch down in the middle of the street in a fucking fetal position and scream and just put everything on ‘mute’. Not that it’s possible. But, yeah. It’s dumb.”

“That’s not dumb.”

_He looks up. There’s a crease between his eyes._

“It is, though. It’s stupid. I can’t walk down the fucking street without it being a load of existential horseshit. Like, people look at me sometimes. I don’t know, maybe because I’m tall or maybe because I’m weird looking or maybe because I’ve got something on my face but they look at me.”

“Couldn’t that be the sunglasses?”

“Hey, these sunglasses are my signature accessory. They are as sharp as they are sharp, dude.”

“Alright, alright. Go on.”

“Tch. Whatever it is... people look at me, and I hate it. And then sometimes I’m walking down the street and people don’t look at me. And I hate it. Just can’t make up my fucking mind so either way it sucks. I guess that’s why I just… I don’t know. I tune it out. Don’t think, just flip on the autopilot and walk and let my thoughts do their thing. I spend a lot of time like that.”

“Like what?”

“On autopilot. In my head. I’d say I spend, like, 76% of my time in my head, 24% of it actually paying attention.”

_He spends most of this monologue looking out the window. His right leg bounces and he fidgets with the zipper of his sweatshirt._

“How is work?”

_A wry half-smile._

“I don’t know. Fine. Whatever. I mean, it’s work? I go and I sit for nine hours in a room where you can’t tell what time of day it is and then I leave and go to bed and do it over again. Five days a week. Not as cool as Dave’s job, but it pays the rent and it’ll do for now until I figure out something better.”

“Why do you say it’s ‘not as cool as Dave’s job’?”

“Because it’s not. He’s a fucking filmmaker-comedian guy. His whole job is just doing the same thing he always knew he was good at and knew he could do and then just did. Never a question. And he’s getting famous off of it, you know? He is living the dream, like how they tell kids to ‘follow their heart’ and everything will be fucking roses and dandelions and for him that shit actually worked.”

“And for you?”

“Fuck no. I don’t have it so easy.”

\--------------------------------

_The window filters out the nondescript twilight that can only come with the inside windows of the third floor of a fifteen-story office building. Night and day are irrelevant. Get back to work._

_Dirk does. He sits at his desk and tinkers with the broken keyboard on his boss’ laptop. Boss needs it fixed to Skype with the New Zealand set of the new SBAHJ film, and Dirk has to be done by three o’clock so as to accommodate the schedule. Guy is a prick, but according to Dave he’s good at what he does. Sure he is. Doesn’t mean he’s not a prick._

_IT work is a thankless job._

_“Bro. Lunch. Let’s go.”_

_Dave._

_As with most conversations Dirk has with one Dave Strider, filmmaking prodigy and certified hipster asshole, the two of them bicker until they reach the end result, which always involves Dirk reluctantly doing whatever Dave suggested in the first place._

_So they go to lunch._

\--------------------------------

“We were at some hipster-ass food cart and Bro was talking about something going on with his movie. I’ve kinda learned to tune him out a bit when he gets like that. I mean, we both ramble so I’m guessing people do the same thing when I talk but I hang out with him so much that I’ve just adapted to it, I guess. Anyway, he was talking and I was half listening and half just doing that stupid thing where I go in circles and circles and I couldn’t get out of it, and he stopped and did the whole ‘what’s wrong’ thing, which is inevitably followed by me going ‘nothing’ and him saying ‘are you sure’ and me saying ‘yeah’ and we leave it at that.

“So he’s saying something-- I dunno, something about a dude who looks like a GI Joe put in a toaster. And somewhere in the middle of his monologue I come to the conclusion that I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life… Still not sure how I feel about that.”

“Can you elaborate?”

_His face drops._

“I guess. I mean-- it’s kind of embarrassing… You know. Romantic shit.”

“Dirk, you don’t have to talk about anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

“No, no, if I’m going to do this whole therapy gig I’m going to do it. Really. I owe as much to Rose and Roxy and Bro. So… I’ll talk.

“I guess I’ve just stopped seeing any possibility of me ending up with someone? Not that I’m not interested, but I just can’t really fathom it, to some degree. I, uh, I should probably tell you that I’ve never dated anyone. Ever. Never even got my first kiss, or anything, except for that awkward time with Roxy when she was really out of it and I don’t like to think that one counts.

“I guess in some respects I was lucky to figure out the whole ‘I like men thing’ pretty early on.

“I’ve had crushes and shit. I think there might have been a few people who could have liked me, but those things I don’t figure out until it’s in hindsight and there’s nothing I can do anyway. When I was younger, I spent lots of time agonizing over it, but the longer I went without that sort of attention, the more I stopped pursuing it. Not that I didn’t want it or anything, because if I’m being honest, I do— but the more time I spent alone the less it seemed likely, and I don’t feel like spending my time hoping for someone to come along if it’s not going to happen. It’s not productive. Not that I have much reason to expect it to happen any time soon; there is no precedent for me. There is no indication that it is something that’s gonna happen. I’ve given it twenty-two years. That’s long enough.”

“Dirk, you can’t be so hard on your--”

“Let’s talk about something else.”

“I think we should--”

“Let’s talk about something else.”

“I’m concerned that you--”

“Please. Just... Let’s talk about something else.”

“...Okay.”

\--------------------------------

_The timeless twilight of the office is oppressive today. It feels like stasis. Like he’s in a jar, like he’s one of Dave’s creepy old dead things floating in formaldehyde forever. His vision fuzzes into lines of coding and circuitry._

_The echoes of yesterday’s conversation still ricochet and twist in his gut. He hadn’t realized just how done he was until the thought was midway through spewing out of his mouth. He’s given up. It’s not happening. He is never going to date. He’s never going to have a significant other. He is going to be alone. It’s about time he really, truly, accepted that._

_That’s when **he** bursts in._

\--------------------------------

“There’s a guy. At work.”

“Oh? What sort of ‘guy’ are we talking about?”

“Bro’s new intern. He just kinda waltzed in today and started chatting the ear off of everyone. Bro threw him on me to show him around the office and to his desk, and get him situated.”

“He obviously made an impression on you.”

“He’s an interesting guy.”

“And is this platonic interest you’re expressing?”

“I dunno.”

_The faint blush tickling the edge of Dirk’s cheeks does not go unnoticed by either party._

“He seems cool. I mean, he’s a total dork-- thick glasses, sorta buck-toothed, and the guy has some seriously questionable sense of style. But we got to talking today when I was setting up his company email and network account and we kinda hit it off.”

“Okay, so at the very least, a potential friend.”

“Yeah. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s stupidly attractive, but... I don’t really feel like I’m capable of going there right now. In this sorry state. So, yeah, just a friend.”

_The genuine smile that lifts the corners of Dirk’s mouth is one of the first his therapist has ever seen._

“At least, until further notice.”

\--------------------------------

_Dirk doesn’t understand why Jake continues to come over to his desk to chat with him every day, but he isn’t complaining. It makes work less boring to listen to that ungodly mutt of an accent ramble on and on about the cinematic quality of “Weekend at Bernie’s,” and he has to admit that it’s fun to banter about the creative merits of android representation in film._

_Jake is earnest. He listens with rapt enthusiasm and responds in kind, energy bursting through his movements, big buck-toothed smile spread from ear to ear. He’s like a puppy. A puppy in the body of a grown (admittedly svelte) man. Dirk spends a good three hours wondering if Jake is actually as obliviously thick-headed as his first impression suggests._

_He is._

_That does not mean, however, that Jake English is stupid._

_Dirk becomes acutely aware of this when they go to lunch together one Tuesday morning. Jake asks about his hobbies, what he does when he isn’t holed up in the tech office at work, and when he begins to explain his current robotics project (a rapping bot), Jake just blurts out something... incredibly smart. Jake is apparently well-versed in engineering, having himself studied it in college. As they proceed to have an intelligent conversation about mechanics, Dirk tries to ignore the clench in his chest and the sinking feeling in his gut._

\--------------------------------

“I don’t get him, I really don’t. The guy is raised on hellmurder island in the middle of fucking nowhere by his gunslinging grandmother, moves to Australia when he hits school-age, spends his life dashing through rainforests and shit, and graduates Cum Laude from the University of Brisbane. And still he is the dopiest, dorkiest walking hurricane I’ve ever seen. With a resume like that he should be Indiana Jones or the Dos Equis guy or some shit. He’s either the doofiest smart person or the smartest idiot I’ve ever met. I’m still figuring out which one of those is more accurate. I mean, he looks like a rugged jungle-man but this is the same guy that wrote self-insert Avatar fanfiction and sometimes I don’t know if he really listens to himself talk because some of those turns of phrase he uses are really antiquated and bawdily suggestive--”

“You sure seem to be thinking about him a lot.”

_Dirk pauses._

“Yeah... So?”

“‘So’? Dirk, do you think you might like Jake as more than just a friend?”

“I thought we had talked about this-- I’m...”

“Yes?”

\--------------------------------

_Jake blabbers away for ten minutes before Dirk realizes that he was leaning on the keyboard this whole time and just wrote fifteen pages of gibberish in an empty word document._

\--------------------------------

"...Fuck."


	3. Purely Psychosomatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's official: Dirk has a crush. Now what's he going to do about it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Skylark for helping me write Jake's dialogue. :)

“So how’s it been?”

_Roxy smiles over a virgin cocktail._

“‘Dunno, it’s weird. I feel strong enough that I can be around people drinkin’ now and not feel as much pressure to grab the nearest martini shaker, but it’s still hard. I don’t know if it’ll ever really be totally easy.”

“Yeah. But look how far you’ve come, right? You’re out and about. You’ve got that shit on lock, Rox.”

“Haha, yeah, I guess so.”

“You _guess_ so? Dude, you are a badass. It is you. I am prostrate on the floor of this fucking bar getting my knees covered in peanut shells and beer bowing and kissing your feet and honoring your non-alcoholic name to the skies.”

“You’re such a drama queen.”

“Hey, watch the derogatory antediluvian language--”

“Oh shoosh with your five dollar words and crap, you know it’s true.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

_Dirk takes a sip of beer and tries not to wrinkle his nose._

“So... a little birdy told me something interesting, Dirky.”

“What did this hypothetical birdy say?”

“He told me that you’ve been spending an awful lot of time with somebodyyyy...”

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

“Does this birdy wear aviators by any chance?”

“Maybe.”

“Squawking feathery asshole.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“Could it be true that forever-bachelor Mr.picky-McStriderson has finally found someone worthy of his affections?”

_Dirk has been caught._

“Well... We’ll see.”

_Roxy lights up._

“So there IS somebody! Omigod omigod what is his name? ... _Her_ name?”

“His name.”

“Well what is it? C’mon Dirky don’t leave me hangin’.”

_How could he ever resist an eyebrow wiggle like that?_

“...Jake.”

“Oooooh, Jake. Jaaake. Jake what?"

“English.”

“English? Is he british? If he has a sexy accent I swear to god Dirk of course you fell for him--”

“I didn’t fall for him. I’m just interested. That’s all.”

“Suuuuure. ‘Just interested’ in a sexy british man with a name like ‘Jake English’. Sounds manly and serious. Tell me, is he manly and serious? Who is the hunky-hunk who managed to entice the elusive Mr. Strider?”

“For the record, he is debatably manly, and not at all serious.”

“Seriously HOT!”

“Pssh, sure. You haven’t even seen what he looks like.”

“Got a picture?”

“Maybe.”

“Oh my GOD Dirk you totally do. Show it to me!”

“Fine, Fine! Okay, one sec...”

_Dirk fishes through his photo library and settles on the portrait he took of Jake for his employee ID. Roxy stares the picture down and studies it for a moment._

“Daaaaaaaamn Mr. English! He’s cute! And he looks ripped. Where has he been all your life?”

_Dirk blushes._

“He’s even got you going all sighing damsel on that ass!”

“You can’t even see his ass in that picture.”

“Oooh, getting defensive? Be honest, how much time have you spent taking in the majesty of this man’s booty? Have you dropped your pen just to watch him bend over and pick it up for you? You pervert!”

_She erupts in peals of laughter and sips her drink, still giggling when Dirk takes his phone back and puts it away, hoping the dark lighting of the bar hides the fact that his face is bright red._

“So, when is your first date?”

“Roxy--"

“Don’t tell me you haven’t asked out this fine hunk of man yet.”

“...”

“Oh my GOD Dirk, you can’t just expect him to read your mind and sweep you off your feet!”

“I can hope.”

“Pshhh, that’s not how this works! You _have_ to go talk to him.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes you do!”

“No, I don’t--”

“YES Dirk, you do. This is the first guy you’ve expressed any interest in since college. You are going to get his number and ask him out to dinner and he is going to say yes and--”

“Roxy...”

“Hey! No, you are not giving me excuses here.”

“I’m not making excuses!”

“Yes, you are. You always do! I’m sick of watching you be too afraid to take a chance and then kick yourself for not making a move once the opportunity is gone. You always think of any possible reason you can hate yourself and just latch onto it like a little hate-sucking leech and use that to make yourself miserable and depressed and then use that as a way to avoid taking risks with people.”

“You've been spending too much time with Rose.”

“Am I wrong?”

“It’s more complicated than that!”

“Is it, Dirk? Or are you just making it more complicated?”

“I don’t KNOW, okay?”

_He feels his fist hit the table and his voice break and his head falls into his hands. He wishes he could curl into himself and just not have to deal with this, not have to deal with his own bullshit and yelling at Roxy and going to therapy and taking meds. He can handle anything._

_Then why the hell is this so goddamn hard?_

“Look, I don't want to pressure you into doing something you don't want to do. I only want the best for you, Dirk. Rose ‘n’ Dave feel the same way; but we can only try to help you so much. Like they told me in rehab:  _You_ are the only one who can help you. 'N I know that this is something you've wanted for a while. You deserve some happiness. All of us think so. It's just that you've just gotta convince yourself you deserve it, too.”

_Dirk stares down at graffiti'd names etched into the grainy wood of the tabletop._

“Okayyyy?”

_She leans over and nudges him, to which he responds with an exasperated groan._

“Fine, fine.”

“Good. Now let’s go out and get some ice cream and you can walk me home, and we can discuss where you’re going to take that sexy Mr. English on your first date.”

 

\----------------

 

“Didn’t think I’d be able to say this, but… I had a good time last night.”

“That’s wonderful! What did you do?”

“Roxy took me out. We got dinner and drinks and ended up walking around the village at midnight, just talking and shit. Laughing, actually. Been awhile since I’ve had an honest laugh. She pressed me for the details about the Jake thing we talked about it a little. I mean, not much to report, but I’d only given her a little bit of information and she was curious.”

“So, does knowing that you can, in fact, have a good time when the circumstances are right help you start to see how things can get better?”

“I mean, I guess? It’s… complicated. Ever since I really started addressing all of the shit I’ve got going on, mentally speaking, it’s been hard to feel really, genuinely good about anything. I can try to enjoy it but it’s always like I’m just waiting for the bomb of depressive-anxious bullshit to go off and it’s ticking down and I can’t know where or when it’ll explode but I know it will. I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop and everything to go back to shit again.”

“And you feel this way still, with Jake?”

“Yeah. I mean, more now that I’ve started crushing on Jake. Because I know that if I make a move it’ll end up bad and I know that if I don’t make a move it will end up just as bad. Either way, I’m on the road to badville, population me.

“I think the worst part might be, uh… I guess, feeling like I’ve forgotten how to be happy? Because whatever the hell is this tense waiting game I’m doing with my depression seriously cramps any happiness I could be having. And in the moment it all seems so logical, you know? Like, of course I’m sad, how could anyone not be sad in within the parameters of the world as it is, your sadness is completely warranted because the world sucks and it only makes sense to be miserable. Happiness is irrational. And I’ve gotten so convinced of that it’s hard to see things any other way.

“And so then I wonder how anyone could stand being around someone who is such a fucking self-indulgent pain in the ass. I can’t get out of my head for five fucking seconds to listen to anyone else because I can’t escape my own brain. I get distracted, sometimes, but it doesn’t last. I remember that I’m supposed to be beating myself up over something and I can’t forget it. So then, instead of returning to whatever I’m supposed to be doing like a normal fucking human being, I go on autopilot and can get twice as much self-flagellation done because I am so fucking good at multitasking.”

_The anger drains from his expression. He can’t even look his own therapist in the eye. Dirk just looks tired, so tired, and so resigned._

“Why would Jake ever want to have anything to do with this piece of shit excuse for a pathetic, self-obsessed asshole?”

_The therapist sighs._

“Do you like him?”

“What?”

“I said, do you like him?”

“I feel like I’ve made my answer obvious.”

“Then ask him out for coffee. Or drinks?”

“You sound just like Roxy.”

“What did she suggest?”

“That I ask him out for dinner at this sushi place downtown.”

“And what do you think?”

“What do I think? I think that I have two options. I can ask him and get rejected and feel like shit, or I can not ask him and avoid the whole mess in the first place.”

“You realize you are discounting one possibility.”

“What, that he’ll say yes? Chances of that are slim. Hell, I don’t even know if he likes guys-- you know, like _that_.”

“Can I suggest a way to reframe this situation?”

“Try me.”

“Suppose your two potential outcomes look like this: You either try, giving yourself the chance to go on a date with the first man you’ve felt really attracted to in a long time. Or you don’t try, and don’t even let that happening be a possibility, sustaining all of the frustrations you have been telling me about, and keeping yourself in exactly the same rut you find yourself in now.”

_Dirk sighs and runs a hand through his hair._

“So, how do you feel about putting it that way?”

“...”

“Dirk?”

“...Fine.”

“Hm?”

“I’ll ask him.”

 

 

\-----------------

 

_Dirk spends two hours and forty-six minutes trying to work up the nerve to walk over to Jake English’s desk, where the bronzed jungle man is hunched over a notepad scribbling something with such concentration that his tongue is sticking out, bitten between his big white teeth. It’s cute, really. His face is scrunched up and his glasses are sliding down his nose and they’re so thick they’re almost touching the paper._

__

_What is he writing, anyway?_

__

_It’s about time Dirk stopped acting like a fucking stalker and actually did something. His legs aren’t shaking. Nope. Not at all. Did it suddenly get really dry in here?_

__

_The fact that Dirk is at Jake’s desk doesn’t register until a beat after English looks up to see him standing there at his shoulder, and smiles that dumb, goofy, gorgeous grin._

“Ah, the younger Mr. Strider! What can I do you for?”

“Uh, hey. What’s up?”

“Nothing much!  Just working the old noggin trying to find a tagline that has the right punch!"

_On cue, Jake emphatically punches the air in front of him. Holy balls, how does this man even exist?_

“Tagline?”

“For Mr. Strider's new movie!  He's trusted me with coming up with the most sensational one-liner, and I want to come through with something that really turns heads.  It's taking a lot more than I expected though to come up with something that's certain to meet his standards. I mean he's--”

“Need some help?”

_Jake's face lights up._

"Golly, I'd appreciate it!  If you're sure you have the time? I don't want to distract you from your technological duties."

“Yeah, I’m, uh, taking a coffee break.”

"Well, come on then and pull up a chair!  Let's get cracking."

_Dirk sits down next to him, and fights the awkward embarrassed blush gathering on his cheeks._

“So, what movie is this? The new SBAHJ?”

"Got it in one!  Mr. Strider's got a hard writing style to imitate and I wasn't sure if it was better to try and write as much as he does or go for something quick and eye-catching."

“As far as I can tell, all Bro does to write out SBAHJ titles is get sloshed and type with his eyes closed.”

"...Do you think I should do that?"

_It takes Dirk a second to realize that Jake is being serious._

“Uh... No, I think we’re good.”

_Fuck that would have been the perfect chance to ask him out for drinks or to say something about going out and why the hell didn’t he say something--_

“So, English. Is that, uh, something you do often?”

“What?”

“Get drinks. Or whatever.”

_Jake stares, brow furrowed as if trying to decipher the deeper meaning of Dirk’s words._

"You mean like alcoholic libations and the like?"

“Well, if you’re talking about the 21st century equivalent, then yes.”

"Actually, I haven't had a chance to since coming to the Big Apple. ...It's rather hard finding any chums willing to show you where the trendiest watering holes are, if you know what I mean. I mean, I should be focusing on my internship anyway--"

“--Well, I guess I know some stuff. About places.”

"Oh, you would, of course, being a regular around these parts!  You wouldn't mind showing a fellow around the isle of Manhattan, would you?"

_Did Jake just ask him out? Jake just asked him out. Fuck._

“Yes.”

_Jake blinks._

“I mean, uh, that’d be cool. Yeah. I’d be down.”

_Jake claps a heavy hand on Dirk's shoulder._

"Fantastic! We'll meet up after work tomorrow, then? Unless you have plans."

“No, I don’t. Not at all. I’m totally free.”

“All right then! It's a deal.”

_Jake grins. Dirk feels the heat rise to his face and knows that he looks like a fucking tomato right now but who wouldn’t when that stupidly attractive guy is smiling his ass off at you?_

_Abruptly, Jake's face falls, and he looks down at the marked-up piece of paper on his desk._

"Kicking Christ! I've got to get going on this if I want to make the three o'clock deadline! You'll still help me, won't you, Strider?"

“Sure, I can help. Let’s get shit done.”

“Righto! Now--”

“Hey English.”

_Dave pokes his head out of his office._

“Don’t worry about the taglines, I thought of a good one. Can you go and grab me some coffee, instead?”

“O-of course, sir!  Right away."

_Dave, already disappearing back into his office, waves a lazy hand out the door._

"Dude, take your time."

_Jake turns to Dirk with a wide smile._

"So, Strider, about that coffee break..."


	4. You're a nut! You're crazy in the coconut.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two accounts of Dirk and Jake's first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, MANY thanks to Skylark for helping me write Jake. She is the best.

“Coffee?” 

“Yeah, coffee.”

“I thought you were more of a tea-drinking type.”

“So?”

“So you suddenly developed an affinity for coffee as soon as one Mr. English invited you out for some? Interesting.”

“Would you please stop psychoanalyzing me and just pick a shirt, already?”

_Rose smirks, filing through clothes hangers in Dirk’s closet._

“Yes, yes. Hold your horses. Which is a turn of phrase I use intentionally, by the way. Horses seen in dreams have historically symbolized sexual prowess and virility.”

“Har har very funny.”

“Ooh, what about this?”

_Roxy emerges from a drawer with a bright orange button down._

“Uh...”

_Rose’s mouth thins into a tight line, which Dirk translates to “How do I put this politely?”_

“Perhaps something less... loud. Orange accents, maybe.”

“Remind me why I can’t just wear a t-shirt and jeans?"

_Both girls roll their eyes._

“This is a dinner date. You are going out in public, not microwaving some mac and cheese in your boxers and watching monster B-movies on SyFy. Have a little decorum.”

“Sharknado is a masterpiece of modern cinema.”

“Omg Dirk why are you such a hipster?”

_Roxy flops over on the bed and throws a white button down at him._

“Wear that!”

 _Rose lifts the shirt to Dirk’s chest, studying it with an artistic eye._  

“Hm... this is nice. Simple, classic, elegant. Wear it with some dark denim and a clean pair of shoes. You’ll look fine.”

“And by ‘fine’ she means ‘fiiiiiineee’. Like, Jake won’t be able to resist your sexy ass.”

“Right. Ass. Got it.”

_A straight-faced Dirk takes the shirt, grabs a pair of jeans, and changes in the bathroom._

“I’ve got a feeling he’s going to be just fine tonight.”

_Roxy glances up at Rose._

“What makes you say that?” 

“Just a hunch.”

“What, are you some kinda psychic with a crystal ball?” 

_Rose just chuckles and starts hanging up the clothing strewn around the bedroom floor._

“No. But my hunches have an uncanny way of always being right.”

 

\--------

 

“How did the date go?”

_Dirk’s leg bounces idly._

“It was kind of... awkward.”

“What do you mean by ‘awkward’?”

“It’s a long story.”

“That’s what I’m paid for.”

_Dirk forgets his facade long enough to offer a chuckle and an honest smile._

“I had to sit at the table and look preoccupied for, like, ten minutes before Jake showed up. It was a Friday night so the place was crowded and the waitress kept eyeing me like I owed her something, and when Jake finally burst through the door he was dripping wet. That was the night we had a torrential Noah-worthy downpour, and apparently Jake thought it would be a good idea to walk from his place.

“So he sits down and starts chattering excitedly about how much he _loves_ sushi and is so excited that we finally got to get out and ‘paint the town red’, and we order. The guy can’t use chopsticks for crap so I show him how. He just, I dunno, kept giving up and trying to stab the shit instead of actually picking it up. He’s ridiculous.”

_Based on the pink flush to his cheeks and the way he smiles, Dirk means it like it's the biggest compliment in the world._

“We order and start talking. It’s... I don’t know, it’s fun? I wouldn’t say it’s easy. I mean, it’s as easy as talking to people ever really is. But he’s so enthusiastic. He’s... open. I haven’t met anyone so earnest in my life. Granted, the people I hang around with most of the time are my family, who are all a bunch of passive-aggressive and/or ironic jerks when they want to be. I don’t find myself interacting with many people outside of them. Well, coworkers. But other than that.

“The food and the sake comes and we’re drinking and he’s telling me about his adventures in the outback and all of the things that nearly killed him. He’d never had sake before. The guy has narrowly avoided being bitten by the third most poisonous snake in the world TWICE, and he’s never done some seriously basic shit. I introduced him to the wonders of ice-cream mochi and he acted like I was fucking Prometheus bringing fire to the people.

“Also, the guy is a total lightweight. He got a little tipsy after the first cup or so. It was...cute. Endearing.

“Anyway, I tried to play it cool.”

 

\----------------------

 

“He seemed more nervous than a Tasmanian tiger during hunting season!”

_Jane pulls out a tray of cookies from the oven, listening to Jake ramble over her shoulder as she sets them on the cooling rack._

“I don’t know what made him so excitable. Surely I’m not an intimidating bloke. Am I, Jane?”

“Hm? Oh, no, not at all.”

“Right! So we’re getting on and he’s showing me this dessert which I believe is the most complicated foodstuff I've ever had the pleasure of ingesting but my goodness did it ever hit the spot! And he’s helping me with the chopsticks and he’s touching my hand and gets all flustered about it. At first I thought perhaps there was something on my hand, you know, or that I was getting him wet somehow--did I mention that I got soaked on the way there?  What a cloudburst we had that evening!"

"I'm surprised you didn't catch cold."

"Nonsense, the Harley-Englishes have always had hale and healthy constitutions!  Anywho, so I asked him what the trouble was and he just blushed harder, said it was nothing and returned to his seat.  Then he apologized, and said it had been a while since he'd gone on a date.  A-and, well, that was news to me--not that he'd had a dry spell, I mean, but that we were on a date in the first place!"

 

\------------------

 

“He had no fucking idea. None. Whatsoever.

“I-- I thought I was going to curl up and die or something. Seriously, the first actual date I’d had in basically my whole life was not a date at all, and now I had just told him it was a date, a guy who I had no idea if he was even into guys at all, and so I was just bracing myself waiting for him to start freaking the fuck out and going ‘I am not a homosexual’ and asserting his heterosexuality left and right in an attempt to distance himself from this whole fucking mistake.

“But he didn’t.”

_The therapist raises her eyebrows._

“Oh?”

“He just kind of sat there, looking at me sort of blankly, and then shrugged and said, ‘Welp, what the hay! It’s a date.’”

_Dirk rubs his eyes and sinks back into the couch, head lolling backwards into the cushion._

“I have NO idea how this guy even exists.”

 

\------------------

 

“You just went with it? The man springs the fact that you are on a date and you just say ‘what the H-E-double-hockey-sticks?'”

"Well, I didn't see what the harm was!  I mean Dirk is a--well he's not a--I mean. Erm. He makes for charming company and there's nothing wrong with that, is there?  To be frank I was more surprised that he'd taken any sort of romantic interest in me in the first place."

“How is that surprising?”

_Jake’s face takes on a particularly bright shade of tomato red._

"Well, I must admit that Dirk is rather well put-together. I'm sure a gentleman of his caliber could have his pick of the litter. Oh, I just wish I had known it was a date from the get-go! I certainly wouldn't have shown up looking like a cat come in from the rain."

“Jake... Have you ever dated a man before?”

"...Well, no, but I can't imagine it's any different from dating a girl. I mean, I would have brought him flowers!"

“I meant, are you interested in men? That way?”

"...I. Erm. I admit that my eye at times has been drawn to a gentleman's fine behind just as easily as it would to a woman's ample bosom, or that occasionally I have entertained such thoughts from time to time as might indicate that I have a more than passing interest in the male sex--”

“Jake." 

"--Which isn't so unusual in this modern and liberated day and age! We're no longer caught in the secretive dark ages of nineteen-aught-nine, Janey--”

“Jake.”

“It's practically healthy to accept that a young man such as myself will on occasion be given to various red-blooded urges such as 'polishing his gun', as it were, to--"

“JAKE!”

“Oh-- what’s the matter Jane?”

“That is a bit too... in-depth. If you catch my drift.”

_Jake looks blankly confused, as though he wasn’t just spewing euphemisms for masturbation in front of his dear sweet cousin._

"Right. Erm, sorry there. Anyway...”

 

\------------------

 

“So it’s a date. Mutually. And it’s not bad. I mean, it’s not bad after I finish having a heart attack and start actually relaxing. We finish dinner around ten and I take him out to this bar on 14th street and it’s nice. Getting on the same page made things easier for both of us.

“Jake, though, is the kind of guy who is convinced that he’s a heavyweight drinker even if he can’t even hold down a beer. He was already tipsy from the sake and didn’t realize just how potent that shit is, so he had another two beers and got a little too inebriated for my liking, so I pulled him away from the bar and asked him where his apartment was so I could get him back without having to worry that he’d been mugged in an alleyway somewhere.”

“That’s considerate of you.”

"What can I say? I’m a southern gentleman.”

"So, what happened then?”

 

\-------------------

 

“I don’t quite recall how I got home. Had a few too many, I reckon. So embarassing! Dirk certainly did escort me back to my abode like the  southern gentleman he is, and I vaguely remember some sort of conversation about pickup lines.”

 

\-------------------

 

“I made sure he got to his place alright and started to say goodnight.  There was no way I was pushing things any farther-- I was completely sober and the guy was not in his right mind and I am a firm believer in clear motherfucking consent. As far as I was concerned, nothing else was going to happen. But-- he seemed pretty... Well, he seemed happy. I swear to god he actually was babbling and thinking up cheesy pickup lines and when we get in front of his door he looks about as serious as a drunk man can be, and he takes my face in his hands and goes: ‘your shades are an ocean. Your face is also an ocean.’ And while I was still reeling with the torrent of all of the ‘what the fuck’ this guy just threw in my face, he leaned over and kissed me.

“This wasn’t some choir of angels bullshit like in a Disney princess movie. I was not Belle or Ariel or Sleeping Beauty or any of those broads and he was no prince charming and I was just me, getting macked on by my adorably inebriated date. These were sloppy drunk Jake kisses, which is a phenomenon closer to getting licked on the mouth by a slobbering St.Bernard.”

“So were you disappointed?”

"Disappointed?”

“By your first kiss.”

_Dirk takes a moment to think._

"I would like to believe that his shitty kissing is the alcohol’s fault.”

“So how did you feel about that, as your first experience?”

“I-- I mean, I wish it could have been a bit different. Fireworks and hearts and glitter and all that jazz. But... I can’t say I’m entirely unhappy. I still got a hoard of angry butterflies having a rager in my stomach and a kokoro full of crazy fucking dokis. And... he initiated it. He actually felt like kissing me. So...”

_He puts his hands in his pockets and lets a lopsided smile slip onto his face._

“Well, that’s something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long! I'm on team Dirk<3Jake for the HSWC, so I've been working on our team's entry like a fiend. It's done now, though, so hopefully that means these chapters will be slightly more frequent. Thanks for your patience.


	5. Grab a kazoo, let's have a duel!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alpha kids, arcades, and turntables.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so damn long-- school and other commitments caught up with me, but just know that even if it takes a while I never drop fic completely, I just work on a lot of things at the same time with makes things take a while sometimes. Also this chapter just came up against a lot of writer's block for me, which certainly didn't help! Anyway, here it is. Hopefully the amount of teeth-rottingly sweet fluff makes up for this chapter's belatedness.
> 
> When it comes to writing, just keep bugging me and I'll get it done! I always appreciate a bit of a kick in the pants. As always, special thanks to skylark for helping me with Jake. :) And to my friends, who are good reminders of why I love to write fic in the first place!

“When did you start making music?”

“About six years ago.”

_It’s so hot and muggy outside that Dirk shows up to his therapy appointment in shorts. He never wears shorts._

“Bro was always super into it, at least when he was younger. When he started devoting more time to moviemaking than to DJing, he gave me his old equipment and taught be the basics, and I taught myself the rest. Two old turntables and a mixer. I already had some speakers and my headphones, so I hooked everything up to a computer and started playing around in Serato and Traktor until things started coming together.”

“So you make your own music?”

“I didn’t, at first. I started by just mixing stuff I already had. After a while I figured I could do better myself. I had lots of ideas, you know? So Rose started teaching me some basic music theory and I produced my own stuff. At this point I was already getting some minor DJing gigs for school functions and for friends’ parties and shit. Bro even got me a job or two, which is how I started getting more recognition. I’ve still got to work IT to put ramen on the table, though, so I’m not all that far.”

“Making your own music is a commendable endeavor in of itself. Don't sell yourself so short!"

_He nods, a closed-mouth smile. His therapist can't tell, but she thinks he's looking out the window from behind those shades._

"Jake’s coming to my next set.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Roxy wants to meet him, and she’s coming to the club to hear my set on Friday anyway, so I figure she and Jake can hang out and get to know each other. He’s bringing a friend, too, so it won’t be two Strilondes on one.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Nervous?”

“About performing in front of Jake.”

“No, not particularly. Well, sort of, I guess. But I don’t really get stage fright. I want to do a good set and show off a little, sure, but part of what got me into DJing in the first place is that it’s... absorbing. I mean, like-- okay, I can be anxious or whatever when I’m walking up to the booth, but as soon as shit starts playing I don’t have time to think about that. I need to be on top of beat matching and reading the crowd and developing the set accordingly, and I need to coordinate transitions and throw in some spur-of-the-moment creative looping and phrasing-- basically, it’s one of the only things I have to devote my whole attention span to. I can’t multitask or think of anything else. It forces me to concentrate on one thing and one thing only. I don’t know, it’s… relaxing. Weirdly.”

“That’s not weird at all. You have found an activity that’s therapeutic for you. It’s great that you’ve got something you love that much.”

“I guess so.” Dirk shrugs, fiddling with the wire of his headphones nestled in his lap, “Yeah.”

“So when’s the performance again?”

“Friday night at a place in Chelsea.”

\--------------------------------

_The pharmacy smells like cleaning supplies. There’s no line. The sparse population might be due to the fact that it’s two AM on a Thursday and Dirk is lucky that his pharmacy of choice is open 24-hours. The woman at the desk looks like she could use a cup of coffee. Her mouth moves but the whirring bass pumping out of his headphones is the only thing he can hear-- he takes them off._

“...elp you?”

“Hm?”

“Can I help you.”

_Statement. Not a question. Answer her._

“Yeah. I’m picking up a prescription.”

“Name?”

“Strider. Dirk.”

_She eyes him like he’s making this shit up. Dirk looks down at his beat-up shoes. Not his fault he’s got a name like a shitty discarded James Bond ripoff._

‘She’s judging you, bro,’ _A voice somewhere inside Dirk’s psyche snorts,_ ‘How many goddamn pills are you on, anyway? You are one fucked up dude.’

_Dirk takes excessive interest in the collection of breath mints organized haphazardly next to the register to avoid answering that rhetorical question._

“How many are you picking up?”

“Four.”

_The woman saunters off, carding through sterile white bags as he drums his fingers against the countertop. Four prescriptions. Okay, one of them is acne medication. But other than that, three prescriptions worth of antidepressants is pretty fucking bad._

_How did he get this twisted? This broken?_

_He wonders what Jake sees in a pile of emotional rubble and jagged edges blunted only by SSRIs._

“Here you go.”

_Dirk pays and carries the bag back to his apartment. Even as he dissects himself to pieces he finds a little core of cohesion in his chest, a lodestone. However he feels about himself, the fact of the matter is that Roxy and Rose and Bro find something worth liking about him. Jake likes him. Actually._

_It’s that thought which relaxes him enough to allow for a night of uninterrupted, restful sleep._

\--------------------------------

“I don’t know what these flashing arrows want me to do but my legs are going to get tangled at this dad-blasted rate!”

“Dude, that’s because you’re standing in the center and stomping on them like killer bugs that are trying to crawl up your legs and eat you or something--”

“I’ll have you know that I have come into contact with honest-to-goodness flesh-eating Jack-Jumpers in my time and they were much less intimidating than this crazy dancing game of yours!”

“You need to wait until the arrows get to the TOP of the screen, Jake, it’s all about timing.”

“Well why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

“I figured the game being called ‘Dance Dance Revolution’ might tip you off to that one, bro.”

“By Jove, Dirk, I spent my boyhood years learning foxtrots and waltzes but this is another realm entirely!”

_Jake flails enthusiastically. Dirk traverses the steps with practiced grace, smiling to himself as Jake begins to pick up his pace and understand the internal mechanics of the deceptively simple instruction “wait until the arrows reach the top of the screen”._

“Oh you better watch your six now! I think I’ve got it!”

_Dirk would much rather watch Jake’s face screw itself into an expression of complete concentration. His big buck teeth bite into his lower lip. His movements are strong and stuttering. It takes a moment for Dirk to realize the song just ended and doesn’t come to know that particular fact until Jake looks up at him with a grin._

“Hullo, Dirk? You there, my good bro?”

“-Huh? Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

“No worries, mate! Just checking. You weren’t zonked in the head, were you? Oh if I whacked you a good one I offer my sincerest apologies--”

“No, dude, it’s ok, you didn’t hit me.”

“Oh, good,” _Jake sighs, leaning against the railing,_ “I would have felt absotively posilutely awful!”

_His breathing is harsh, labored._

“Jake, are you ok? You’re breathing pretty hard.”

“Oh, no worries, luv! I’ll be fine in just a tic.”

_Dirk diagnoses him with six things before using Occam’s Razor to select the least lethal and exotic._

“Do you have asthma?”

 _He waves his hand,_ “No worries! That didn’t stop me when I was doing my tour of the Amazon jungle and it’s certainly not enough to allow this silly old game to gain the upper hand! I’ve always considered it life’s little handicap. Levels the playing field for everyone else!”

_Jake gesticulates wildly and Dirk decides to drop it, wondering if the flush on his cheeks is exertion or... Well, something else._

"Hey, you ever play any shooters during your incredible exploits in the antipodes?"

 _Jake's face lights up._ "Did I? Did I? I played the best shooter in the world-- a real life one! I've been toting firearms since I was born! Oh you should have seen what my gran taught me--"

_Speaking a decibel too loud about firearms in a public place is generally considered to be a universally bad idea. People are starting to stare. Dirk moves to put out his hand and tap Jake’s shoulder-- only to hesitate an inch away. He wants so badly to grab Jake by the arm, to touch him, fuck-- Why can’t he just--_

_Dirk gives up mid-thought and walks over to the Time Crisis machine, inserts the requisite credits, and Jake stops himself mid-tale to galumph over and join him before the dual screens._

“Golly, this looks like a rollicking good time! Much more up my alley than that other gambol was.”

“I’ll try to go easy on you this time.”

“Oh no, I think you will have a solid day at the races with me on this one, Dirk!”

\--------------------------------

“You’ve got color in your face.”

“I’ve been going outside more.”

_The therapist smiles._

“It’s good. You look healthy.”

“Thanks.”

“So you’ve been social, I take it?”

_Dirk suppresses a lopsided tug at the corner of his mouth._

“You could say that. I’ve been hanging with Roxy between her TA shifts at Columbia, and going out for lunch instead of taking it at my desk when I’m at work. Jake and I went to the mexican place down the street on Tuesday to treat ourselves to fish tacos.”

“And how is that going?”

“It’s… going.”

“Why the hesitation?”

“I don’t--” _He stops, gears turning, selecting his words,_ “I have spent a lot of time-- more than I’d like to admit-- building up plans and expectations. Playing the long game. And no matter how good I am at pulling strings and foreseeing outcomes, I always build a contingency plan. Things go wrong. Shit that looks solid and absolute can crumble beneath your feet, and you have to be prepared.”

_Dirk looks out the window, leg bouncing as a motor idles._

“...I am prepared.”

“So what are you preparing for now?”

“I--”

_His face is drawn. Solemn._

“I don’t know.”

“Dirk.”

“Hm?”

_The therapist waits until he meets her eyes again._

“You don’t have to be scared of being happy.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Wary, then. I know that it’s hard getting used to any major change in your life, particularly when all you’ve known for a long time is feeling differing degrees of miserable. But just because you’re not used to being excited about the future doesn’t mean it’s not a good thing in your life regardless of whether or not it’s only temporary!”

_Dirk fidgets with the points of his glasses, which she has him take off at the beginning of every session. He glances up at her and then back down to the lenses in silence._

“Look, not enjoying the good times because you know that life isn’t always going to be perfect means you’re never going to be able to enjoy anything. Don’t you think it’s better to have some happy times than none at all?”

“Of course it is-- It’s just…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t...I don’t know how to be happy any more. And that’s scary as fuck. I know I said something about it before but now that I feel like I actually do have some part of me that is starting to think shit is going pretty well right now, I’ve programmed myself to reflexively deny the very fucking notion of not being miserable. I’ve fucked myself up to the point where it’s just easier to be depressed.”

\--------------------------------

_The bass is pumping so loud Jake can hear it from two blocks away._

“Dirk said he can’t meet us himself but he said his cousin should be out in front of the entrance to escort us!”

_Jane looks up from her phone to guide Jake around the corner before he walks into the street._

“This way, it looks like the line goes around--”

“Holy hopping horses, Jane! Is that--”

_A grimace crosses Jane’s face. She tugs the neckline of her dress up and glances at the line in front of the club. How are they supposed to get--_

“Excuse me, sir!”

_Jake is walking past the queue up to the large, intimidating, and rather sweaty-looking bouncer in the cracked shades. This can’t end well._

“Why, just from the sound of the din inside you must be having a real humdinger tonight!” 

_The bouncer is impassive._

“Heh, I'm not sure if you know this but the gentleman performing inside tonight is none other than Dirk Strider! He's a right wizard with those turntables, I’ve heard.”

_If the bouncer begins to sweat a little bit more Jake doesn’t notice._

“As we are his bosom buddies, you know, could you be a dear and just let us slip in? You should come in yourself for a spell, you know, and get a good earful! Why don't you--”

“There you are!”

_Jake is midway through clapping the increasingly tense bouncer on one massive shoulder when Jane’s blanching face turns to catch a smiling blonde emerge from the club entrance._

“These guys are with me, I’m taking them in! Ok awesome thanks byyyyyyyyyyyye!””

_She gives the bouncer a wink and grabs their arms, pulling them along after her. Jake and Jane stumble obediently._

“Sorry about that, he’s sort of a stiff but he’s totally a good dude when you get to know ‘im… Anyway, you must be Mr. English! I’ve heard a lot about you from Dirk, but he didn’t tell me you’d be bringing a hottie with a bodyyy! Hey there, I’m Roxy, Dirk’s cousin, also part-time bartender here. Well, I used to be, but that’s a long story and I still help out and stuff so whatevs--”

_Jane’s face goes from pale to Crockercorp red within a few seconds of Roxy taking her hand, and Jake can’t help but give his cousin an elbow and a wink-wink that forces her to hide behind a manicured hand. Luckily the club is so dimly lit that her embarrassment is all but unnoticeable. Not that anyone could pay attention to anything other than the intense bass vibrations booming through the room as patrons dance and drink in the low light._

“There he is!” 

“That’s him? In the sunglasses?”

“Yes, oh this is just the cat’s pajamas-- Diiiirk! DIIIRK!”

_Jake stands on his tiptoes to peer over the writhing crowd and watch Dirk, standing above some complicated looking equipment and two turntables, one headphone cup tight over his ear while doing something with glowing knobs and buttons. Whatever it was, it looked impressive._

“Oh wow, just look at him Janey! I wonder what that thingamabob is for, I can’t imagine what using a doohickey with that many bells and whistles must be like, he must be a right ace at it, look at all of these people dancing...“

_Jane can’t hear Jake’s rambling excitement over the noise, but Roxy is tugging them to the far side of the room so she assumes it’s nothing important and grabs his arm to usher him through the club. Finally they sit down in a booth that provides a bit of insulation from the pervasive rises and drops of the blaring trap music. Roxy slides in across the table._

“...wonder if he’s a famous DJ and never told me? That sly dog, probably pulled the wool right over my eyes! Only makes sense what with Mr. Strider the elder being a hot shot man-about-town--”

_Roxy passes Jane a curious glance: is Jake always this chattery? Jane mouths ‘Sorry’ with a sheepish chuckle._

“So, nice to finally meet you guys! The famous mister Jake English and miss..?”

“Crocker. Er, Jane. Jake’s cousin. Nice to meet you!” 

“Oh, where are my manners? A pleasure to finally meet you, miss Lalonde!”

_Jake’s enthusiastic handshake rocks the entirety of Roxy’s upper body. Instead of grimacing and shoving her arm back into its socket, she giggles._

“Hehe, pleasure’s all mine, darlin’.”

\--------------------------------

“I could see them out there, sort of. Just sitting and talking. Couldn’t really pay much attention because I had to keep the music going, but it was basically Jake meeting the family for the first time and I couldn’t do a damn thing to make sure it didn’t go to shit. Not that I don’t trust Roxy, or Jake. Well, maybe not Jake. He’s a lot of energy for people who aren’t prepared. And I didn’t know who Jane was, which makes things way more awkward. I mean, not that I was jealous at all. Or whatever.”

“Mmhmmm.”

“It’s just that a guy you’re sort of dating shows up with some random chick you have never seen before and he was pretty much presumably foreign to the idea of being with another guy until very recently so it’s a bit alarming, him showing up with a lovely girl like Jane. She really was a cool person, too. She’s funny, sharp as a tack, cute, apparently an amazing baker… And she’s sort of graceful, in a way. She knows how to talk to people a hell of a lot better than I do. Also she’s a girl, so she has that advantage over me. Why the hell am I so competitive with this shit? I mean all of this romantic crap shouldn’t be a contest but it sort of feels like it is.”

“Dirk, it’s a completely understandable response.”

“Yeah, but I still feel like a dick. She’s his cousin after all, so it’s not really a thing that could happen, but apparently they’d had some longstanding sexual tension according to the information Roxy ended up getting out of Jane. Never grew, but it was there. That’s a good thing to come out of this, though: Roxy and Jane hit it off like no one’s business.”

\--------------------------------

_Dirk’s set ends at 1:00AM. He comes out with his computer under one arm, headphones slung around his neck, the hint of satisfied shadows in the hollow of his eyes. Well, in what’s visible of his eyes, anyway._

_Roxy looks up to see him first._

“Dirky!”

“There you are!”

“What? I can barely hear anything in here--”

“What?”

“I said, I can barely hear anything in here--”

“Oh!”

 _They get outside the club with some tugging and a minor game of charades. Jake is still bouncing idly with the low thud of the bass beat audible through the walls. Dirk still isn’t sure how to greet him, even after a second date-- hell,_ especially _after a second date. Luckily, he doesn’t have to._

“So you are the Mr. Strider I’ve heard so much about! I’m Jane, Jake’s cousin.”

_Jane is smiling, perfect, poised. She offers her hand and Dirk shakes it, feeling grubby and sweaty next to how polished she is._

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

“Oh Dirk! That music was just splendid! Truly you were mister butterfingers out there--why, you must have dropped the bass at least a dozen times!”

_Dirk tries not to blush. He fails. Roxy throws her arm over his shoulders._

“That was some kinda set! You were all like ‘wubbbbbb’ and ‘dunununununununununuuuuuuuuuuuuuh-- BUUUUUUUUMMMMM’ and yeah it was pretty okay not gonna lie. Janey here said it was her first time ever watching a real live DJ play!”

“Well, I--”

 _Jake cuts in,_ “Oh, the part with the lights where they flashed on and off, what’s that called again?”

“Strobe lights!” _Roxy answered._

“Oh yes! When they _strobed_ , I could just feel my ticker prancing!”

_Jane places a hand on Jake’s shoulder and Dirk can already piece together why Jane and Jake seem so close-- the two of them are sweet, even if it puts a little pang of jealousy in his stomach. They stand there on the curb, pulling their jackets tighter with the seeping cold, and Dirk wishes it was him standing next to Jake, close enough to feel his radiating warmth._

_Lucky for Dirk, Roxy can read him like a neon sign._

“Hey, anyone else up for some late-night milkshakes? There’s a 24-hour diner around the corner that’s got some AWESOME stuff.”

“Oh, that sounds lovel--” _Before Jane can finish her sentence, Roxy has already taken her hand and whisked her away down the street (and is that a wonk at Dirk over her shoulder? Perhaps). He’ll have to thank and/or fume at her leaving him like that later._

_Now he’s alone. With Jake._

“Well…”

_Jake’s low chuckle and toothy smile is too damn sexy for his own good. Curse you, Jake English. You and your cute accent and chiseled jaw and buck teeth and really inviting pillowy-as-hell lips--_

_Dirk is pathetic. Who the fuck just sits there ogling the guy they’re dating, too cowardly to do anything but stare and pine and pull a fucking Helga Pataki replete with the mental equivalent of a used-gum shrine in his closet? He ought to just go up to Jake now and kiss him. Just do it, don’t think, don’t get tangled in nerves, just make like Nike and do it already--_

_Which is how Dirk winds up giving Jake English the most awkward peck on the lips in the universe._

_He pulls away, still catching up with the fact that he just made such a dumb move and that Jake is looking at him, pretty little lips ajar. Jake blinks._

“Oh.”

 _He did it. It was dumb and a really terrible kiss all things considered but what would he know about that-- the important part was that he kissed Jake and it was him who did it and Jake isn’t drunk this time and he is_ smiling. _And when Jake grins he bites his lip and just looks so happy and before Dirk knows it Jake has his arms around Dirk’s waist and is kissing him back. It’s real this time, real (and sober) and, okay, sort of fumblingly unskilled but what it lacks in expertise both of them make up for in enthusiasm. Dirk has never felt so much like a sixteen-year-old girl, and it is euphoric._

“Erm, well...” _Jake chuckles breathlessly when they pull apart, foreheads still touching._

“Yeah.”

_A happy quiet. Dirk glances down the street at the forms of Roxy and Jane disappearing around the corner._

“Maybe we should go catch up with the girls.”

“Right-o.”

_And so they go, hand in hand._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Whirring](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121145) by [Benzaiten (DaughterOfTheWest)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterOfTheWest/pseuds/Benzaiten)
  * [Walkup](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139063) by [Skylark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark/pseuds/Skylark)




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